


The Gravity of Love

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry and Draco didn't make it.





	The Gravity of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The candles flickered in mid-air, moving in and out of the steps of a choreographed dance, under the bright stars of the summer night that opened up in the ceiling. Below the candles, the children fell on their food like an army of tiny barbarians, brandishing forks, licking fingers, dragging over-long black sleeves through the sauce. The food was the sort of food that normally only appeared in the dreams of very, very hungry people, or occasionally, in colour two-page spreads in Witch Weekly's cooking section.

From the High Table, Luna Lovegood lifted her ceremonial golden goblet toward the children, then, almost imperceptibly, raised a toast to two ghosts who were slouching, unnoticed, in the arched doorway.

"Lets do it, then," said the Decomposing Death-Eater, with all the enthusiasm of a schoolboy creeping off to class on a winter's morning. "Time to terrify the younger generation. Our moment of glory before we fade back into the wallpaper for another year. You first, Potter."

"Ladies first," said the Boy Who Miscalculated Horribly While Trying to Rescue His Worst Enemy, And Paid For It. Horribly. "I insist."

"Pull yourself together and get your spook on, you git. The sooner we scare them, the sooner we can... "

"What? What else have we got to do that's so important right now, Malfoy, that it can't wait until tomorrow? And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the one after that?"

"Oh get over yourself," said the Silvery-Haired Spectre, as if he had admonished his companion for this more times than he really cared to remember, which as it happened, he had. "It's the Choosing Feast, I've been waiting all summer for this. Look at that little red-haired specky four-eyes at the Gryffindor Table, that must be a Weasley, surely..."

"His name's Algernon," said Harry, dully, wondering how many generations of little red-heads there were going to be, and whether this one had been told the story, yet. "You're right, its not as if we've got anything better to do tonight, is it?"

"That's the spirit," said Draco Malfoy, his hand on Harry's shoulder, the smirk on his still-youthful face fading to genuine concern. "You know you love it when they fuss over you. It's not like they pull away when you sit down next to them, is it?  Go on. I'll be right behind you."

 

***

 

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he ventured, later, as they leaned on the battlements of the Astronomy Tower and watched a homely plume of smoke curling up from Neville and Ginny's hut. "Some of them are quite intelligent for their age, you know."

"Drop it, Malfoy, please," said Harry. "I just want to forget about it. I'm so tired of having it all dragged up every year, over and over, its so embarrassing.  So...sentimental. So clichéd. So tired. God, I'm tired."

"Well I don't know," said Draco. "I like being in a story that never gets old.  I like remembering how you..."

"Malfoy! I mean it!"

Draco put up his hands, slender and pale against the moonlight. "Fine, I won't say another word. You forget, if you want to."

From the hut below them came the faint sound of a harmonica playing something, which Harry finally placed as "Auld Lang Syne."

"The Longbottoms are up late tonight," he murmured.

"Well, they get the leftovers, don't they?" said Draco. "Must be quite exciting, when you usually live off..."

"Give it a rest," growled Harry. "Not tonight."

"You are worked up," said Draco, wonderingly, catching Harry by his ghostly jaw, turning his face around. "What is it? You really do hate me, don't you?"

Harry wrenched his face away from Draco's grip, refusing to look at him. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd hated you. You know that. I'm not going to say it again.  Ancient history."

"It'll never be ancient history, as long as there's you and me."

Harry turned round and finally looked at Draco properly. "You're never going to get this scaring-people thing, are you?  You're hopeless."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Draco, thoughtfully. "I have a purpose now. A reason for looking forward to the morning, even if I can't actually wake up and get out of bed anymore. I wouldn't have that, if it wasn't for you."

"Malfoy," said Harry, warningly.

"Right.  Sorry."  Draco stood a little closer and together they watched the granddaughter of Mrs Norris walk out from under the gateway directly below and look up at them, suspiciously. "D'you think if I spat on her from here...?"  



End file.
